Miscellany
by hiding duh
Summary: Sylar/Claire. It made sense in the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

Random assortment of filled drabble requests.

If you're looking for updates (and, apparently, RPF), you're more likely to find them on LJ first.

* * *

For **mamozombie**; Sylar and Claire rule the world; 700 words.

*

It made sense in the beginning.

In fact, her suggestion was so logical that even _Sylar_ had agreed to it.

But essentially dividing the planet between them—he'd stay north; she'd venture south—proved impractical. Especially as they were the last two people on Earth. Literally.

"Funny," he drawled idly, leaning against a decaying wharf piling.

Claire narrowed her eyes, scanning the port, and the vast ocean beyond, for movement.

"Funny," he repeated, less amused.

She clenched her jaw, annoyed. "What is?"

"That you need my help," he perked up, knee-deep in algae, "to get _away_ from me."

With a subtle eye roll, Claire waded deeper into the water, squinting at the sun. "I don't need your help."

"Really." His pants sloshed against the water as he moved behind her. A gentle wave washed over her thighs, in turn. "And how will you cross the ocean?"

Unamused, she paused.

Sure, what with the virus wiping out mankind, there was no one to pilot planes. Or operate boats. And she'd kept stealing cars every forty miles because the pumps were nonoperational just to _get_ here, but—

"I'll swim."

"There are approximately..." he began, tilting his head as though accessing a mental calculator, "three thousand miles between this port and the nearest—"

"Shut up."

"—and that's if you swim in a straight line," he continued, undeterred. "And provided you don't drown. Or get eaten by sharks."

"Shut up."

He came to stand by her, hands in his pockets. "What will you do on the other side of the world?"

Stubborn, she crossed her arms and scowled. "Find a way to kill you."

"Claire," he said with a cocky smirk, "I'm giving you an entire hemisphere." Casually, he draped his arm about her shoulder. "Time to get over it."

Guarded, she brushed his hand off and returned her gaze to the ocean. "Right," she mumbled, heart heavy. "I'll just get over you killing my mother and my father and unleashing a virus that wiped out—"

"I didn't do that," he interrupted darkly. His hand crept back to her shoulder, fingers gently tangling in her hair. "Well. That last part. I wouldn't do that."

Her gaze wavered, her concentration slipped, and her eyes slowly connected with his.

"There were still powers I wanted to take," he amended solemnly.

Claire pushed him away, disgusted.

"So, three thousand miles, right?" she grumbled, rolled up her sleeves, and took a step forward, sinking deeper into the waters.

Calmly, Sylar pulled her back by the scruff of her neck. "You won't make it."

She struggled against his grip. "I'll get there, Sylar," she growled. "I have an eternity."

"Which you could spend with me," he noted, too easily.

She stopped struggling. "I'm not ready." His grip loosened. "You said I wouldn't have to. Not until after my family was gone—"

"Well," he reasoned, "they're dead."

Her chest tightened painfully. "I just... I thought I had years. Decades."

Sylar inhaled impatiently. "Time is a relative concept, Claire."

Claire briefly glanced at his—_Nathan's_—wristwatch, shoulders slumping. "I know."

He paused for a moment, then withdrew his hands.

"The world will repair itself," he told her with a small shrug.

She turned to watch him out of the corner of her eye, oddly comforted.

His lips curled. "And then we'll repopulate it."

Claire swam away, posthaste.


	2. Chapter 2

For **writeangel1**; Sylar and Claire have a daughter; "Daddy's Little Girl"; "Please make it as twisted and dark as you can"; 600 words.

*

For the first seven months, Sylar lets Claire believe she's had a child with Nathan.

Partly because it takes a while for him to remember, but mostly because he's punishing her for rejecting him.

Soon, however, he realizes she'd rather have a child with her own father than with him.

So, he starts off slowly.

He waits for Claire to fall in love with her daughter; to teach her how to walk and talk and send kisses and say _I love you, mommy_.

He ghosts through the house on the girl's third birthday. He smiles and levitates toys and coaxes her out of bed, annoyed with the happy squeals she makes. He scoops her up and she doesn't even protest when he flies her far away from home.

He makes sure to leave this behind: torn pajamas, lock of golden hair, a broken crib.

He gives it a few days. He waits until Claire is so full of despair she can't function, then returns the child to her nursery as though not a day has gone by, unharmed.

He holds back for a few more years. He is patient. He lets them create an excess of happy memories—of parks and toys and snuggles—then tracks his girls down again. He hovers over his daughter's bed one night, presses a cold hand to her warm forehead, and erases every memory of Claire.

He starts to notice the cracks appear, so he pushes harder.

He is gracious, of course, and he permits Claire to hold on to their daughter, to keep her a little more. Allows her, in his never-ending magnanimity, to rebuild the relationship as best she can. Then, he shapeshifts into a handsome teenage boy.

He says all the right words, does all the right things, and it's easy.

He causes fights simply by existing. But Claire perseveres through the tantrums and the threats and the tears, and only loves her daughter _more_.

It infuriates him beyond comprehension.

He disappears for a year, and comes back as Sylar.

As a father.

He has rights, he says.

"Or we can do this the hard way," he warns and Claire acquiesces with bared teeth and hate-filled eyes.

He spends time with his daughter, becomes a model father, a perfect role model. His daughter's interests, qualities, even her damn _name_ barely register through all this, but it's worth it to punish Claire. To see her give up.

"She loves me more," he gloats one day, leaning against a kitchen wall.

"It doesn't matter," Claire tells him casually, sipping from her coffee mug. "I love _her_ more than anything in the world, and that's enough."

The anger rises within him so fast and so violently he can't control his powers for a week.

When he finally calms down, he makes his daughter dinner.

He was ingenious when he killed Claire's mother; practical when he killed Nathan. He is almost kind this time. Liquefies Claire's daughter quickly, after dessert, and makes sure nothing, not even Claire's blood, will bring her back.

"She was mine to take away," he eulogizes, delighted at Claire's tear-stained face, and completes the punishment. "I _gave_ her to you."

She is broken with grief and she will never love him now, but she seems full of motherly affection, seems to be inexplicably bursting with happy memories amidst her dark tragedies.

She looks at him, beyond repair, and whispers a soft, "Thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

For **raitheemohugger**; Sylar/Claire; "We accept the love we think we deserve"; 300 words.

*

When Claire was little, she'd read books and watch movies and think, oh, so this is what happens if you're good.

When Sylar was little, he'd go to church and listen to his mother and think, well, you get nothing even when you're good.

When Claire first realizes she'll live forever, she believes she's been given an undeserved reward.

When Sylar first realizes he wants to survive eternity with the girl who gave him his, he _knows_ he deserves her.

Claire tries to spend her first lifetime saving the world. She picks fine causes, does good things, and expects no recognition. She burns out quickly. The world doesn't care. It turns whether she's there to protect it or not.

She works for decades, burdened with eternal guilt, and makes no dent in crime rates, or poverty, or starvation. She changes lives, touches people, improves their existence, but the progress is so fleeting and so unrewarding she drowns in insecurities and resentment.

Sylar spends his first lifetime furthering his collection. He hunts his prey without remorse, avoids capture, and waits to be recognized. He burns out quickly. The world is too big. It persists whether he kills one person or a thousand.

He slows down over the decades, laden with abilities, and reevaluates the meaning of life, and love, and eternity. He attempts heroics, averts floods, saves villages, and the rewards are so gratifying and so binding he rises above his insecurities and grudges.

When they meet, somewhere in the middle, Sylar is grateful and hesitant and Claire is wary but resigned.

When they start their future together, Sylar understands he doesn't deserve her.

Claire knows she doesn't deserve better.


End file.
